


How can I keep you inside my lungs?

by youngjusticewriter



Series: It’s perfectly strange. You(‘re) ru(i)n in my veins. [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Body Horror, Dark, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, I love that tag, Self-Harm, next part will be about Nico’s crush on Percy, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngjusticewriter/pseuds/youngjusticewriter
Summary: There was something else in your chest then the flowers that had grown from your love of Luke. (The flowers that were wilting even though you hadn’t given up on Luke. Love ironically was not like flowers. One couldn’t just yank it out of their heart no matter how hard they tried even if they wanted to.)It’s not even a flower - even if it’s more then beautiful enough to be one - though that had grown in your chest. You had learnt they weren’t indeed flowers or even plants from watching National Geographic





	How can I keep you inside my lungs?

Once, you thought of the yellow flowers that cradled your heart as though it was his own hands as sweet despite what it meant that they grew in your chest cavity. 

Then, after having completing the quest and being seen, haven proven yourself to both your mother and yourself, Luke’s betrayal had been found out after his attempt on Percy’s life. 

Or, maybe it had started before that and you hadn’t noticed, had not wanted to notice even though it was unfair. 

What made you notice was one night you had woken up and you hadn’t been able to move despite how much you screamed at your body to do so. Your breath had been harsh in fear, in adrenaline spiking for the fight that never came.

It took longer then it should for the realization to dawn on you. You could breath better then you had in weeks; the yellow flowers you once held dear to your heart, and they to your heart, had become liken unto a weed ever since the end of this summer. (You never asked to have them cut out because you kept hoping Luke would come to senses and come home. If he did you still wanted to capable of loving him even if waiting for the chance, waiting for him, killed you in the end. It’s funny in an ironic way, a morbid way. When Thalia had been dying her father had turned her into a pine tree to save her life and protect the lives of demi-gods at Camp Half-Blood. Now, years later you could have died from plants that grew in your chest that were there from love. ) 

Or least they had been until that night. Eventually, you were able to move again and when you could you ended up falling out of bed from how fast you tried to get out of it. There had been a loud thump of noise from your fall but your father never woke up to it or just hadn’t cared enough to get out of bed to check if you were alright. 

You had stumbled to the bathroom to check from any cuts or for just any explanation to what had happened. Your heart had still been beating so fast. It felt like it was trying to break free from your chest, from the flowers that you once thought of cradling your heart in protection. 

You could breath better then you should have been able to and you knew what that meant even though it shouldn’t been possible. 

It was reckless. 

It was stupid. 

To anyone else the actions you did that night would have killed them. But you were not a cat whose curiosity would get yourself killed. No, you were a daughter of Athena. 

You had headed back into your room and reached under your bed for the packed bag you had hidden under there in case you ever needed it. (It wasn’t as much a question of if you needed it as it was when you would need have a need for it.) 

It was easy to find the ambrosia because you kept in it side pocket purposely. Next, you had reached a hand under your pillow for your knife. The knife Luke had given you, along with promises of family, that night you had found Thalia and him. When you had grabbed what you had came for you headed right back to the bathroom. You climbed into the tube so it would be easier to wash the blood out. After setting down the food of the gods and your knife at your feet (your nails had been painted because earlier that week your step mother had brought you along with her to the nail salon she went to for some bonding time to make your dad happy), you slipped off the shirt you had worn to bed. Then came your shorts and underwear just in case. (You didn’t want to have to listen to another lecture about getting blood in your clothes.) Your hands had shook so hard that you had to pause from grabbing the knife. You would need steady hands for this. 

Eventually, you were capable of holding your knife. 

Noises of pain slipped through your gritted teeth but, like the noise that came from you falling on your butt while trying to get out of bed, it doesn’t make your dad come bragging into your room. 

The tip of knife dug into your skin and blood started to blossom around it. Soon you watched it slide underneath the knife Luke had given you. One of your feet hit the side of the tube and out came a cry of pain as more of your skin is cut and made into chasm so your capable of slipping your hand in. 

There was something else in your chest then the flowers that had grown from your love of Luke. (The flowers that were wilting even though you hadn’t given up on Luke. Love ironically was not like flowers. One couldn’t just yank it out of their heart no matter how hard they tried even if they wanted to.) It’s not even a flower - even if it’s more then beautiful enough to be one - though that had grown in your chest. You had learnt they weren’t indeed flowers or even plants from watching National Geographic 

What in the seven hells, you wondered, you cussed, as you stared in horror at the bright colored tentacles in your chest. A bloodied, shaking hand goes down to your feet to grab the ambrosia you had left there. You’re quick to shove it in your mouth and chew it. The taste of buttery popcorn - the brand her family used for movie nights - is not sweet when it’s accompanied with the taste of copper that came from your own blood. 

Your chest trembled as skin began to knit together, hiding the pretty sight of a sea anemone growing in your chest. 

You would call Chiron after you’ve had a shower and had time to think on how best to explain what you did to yourself.


End file.
